Not Bad For a First Try
by ughwhouffle
Summary: Based on a prompt at imagineyourotp.- "Imagine you OTP sitting in a bar/club and Person A asks Person B if they've played pool before. Person B says no, and A decides to teach them." [full prompt in AN]


_[full prompt]_

_Imagine your OTP sitting in a bar/club and Person A asks Person B if they've played pool before. Person B says no, and A decides to teach them. At one point in the lesson, Person B is trying to line up a good shot when A suddenly presses into them from behind (bonus if A whispers "Let's see if your concentration is up to par; very important in this game") and starts to kiss their neck and/or fondle their hip. B becomes incredibly flustered and aroused, but manages to concentrate and sink the eight ball. The lesson is swiftly forgotten as B grabs A and pulls them into the bathroom for a make-out session._

Clara still wasn't sure why they were sitting in this bar on a weekend night. She didn't even know where they were, really. The Doctor had said he'd wanted to meet a friend friend hadn't shown up, apparently, because now they were sitting alone at the counter, the Doctor, thankfully, not having had any drinks. Clara had only had a few, mostly to get the men next to her to shut up about buying her something. Her eyes drifted to a group of men playing pool. They almost looked like teenagers. She wondered if they'd somehow gotten in with fake ID's, but decided it didn't matter.

The Doctor followed her gaze.

"You ever played pool?" he asked casually. Clara shook her head.

"Well then," he declared, standing up. "I'd better teach you."

Clara blushed, but followed him to an empty pool table.

"I've played quite a few games of pool in my travels," he explained, handing her a cue and setting up the balls on the table. Clara tried not to show how awkward she still felt. The Doctor leaned over the edge of the table, and promptly sank three of the colored balls. Clara couldn't help but grin.

"Your turn," he pointed out, nodding at her. She attempted to do as he had done, leaning over the table. She closed her eyes as she tried to at least sink one ball. All she managed to do was bounce a few around the edges.

"Sorry," she said, almost without thinking.

"Don't be," the Doctor replied. "That's not bad, for a first try." He walked over to her, offering to help. She just expected him to guide her arm, but couldn't say she didn't like what he did.

He stood behind her, so that his shoulders pressed against hers. His arms lay over hers, his hands holding her wrists. It was distracting, but in a good way.

"Here, Clara," he said softly. "Like this," he instructed, moving her hands gently. She tried to think about the task at hand, and not the way his breath was quiet in her ear, or the steady sway of his body as he exhaled.

"Make sure you're concentrating," he breathed. "It's very important in this game."

It was rather hard to concentrate, with the way his body pressed against hers. How his hips seemed to be teasing hers. She noticed quite a few men eyeing the Doctor jealously, but ignored them.

She had long since stopped wondering if he had the sonic screwdriver in his coat pocket.

He'd assumed she pretty much had it down, but it was fun teasing her. One hand rested on her hip, his fingers slowly running down her thigh. He grinned slyly, letting his hand slip just barely under the waistline of her leggings.

It had become nearly impossible to pay attention to anything besides the Doctor's teasing. He'd rested his head on her shoulder, as if murmuring something into her ear.

He wasn't talking to her, not really. He was kissing her neck, occasionally nibbling on her ear. The only thing in the way of words he was saying were promises breathed about what he was going to do to her; as soon as they were alone.

After a few minutes, Clara couldn't take it. She turned around, taking him by the lapels of his jacket.

"You," she said. "Bathroom. Now."

He followed her obediently,his heart racing. He was suddenly glad it was a small bar, without stalls in the bathrooms. No one would interrupt them.

She shut the door behind them, turning the lock as an afterthought. She kissed the Doctor roughly, pushing him against the tiled wall. She had to make up for what he'd done earlier.

Their kisses grew heated; almost feverish. It became almost a dance, heads bobbing back and forth to come up for air, lips slightly parted. The Doctor's fingers ran through Clara's hair; low moans threading through the pants and gasps. Her hands worked in a frenzy to undo the buttons on his coat, his shirt. Shortly after, both their clothes lay in a heap on the floor.

This was going to be good. The Doctor thought for a fleeting moment that they should play games more often, before Clara's hands distracted him from his thoughts.

A short while later, they stumbled out of the bathroom. Both of them had disheveled clothes,messy hair, that distant look of pleasure in their eyes. Anyone could easily guess what'd just happened.

The Doctor realized as they walked out that he didn't care.


End file.
